Slayer
by HeathenVampires
Summary: AU slayer!Vlad human!Vlad. Bertrand went back to get away from the Slayers. He couldn't help but want to take out his frustration out on the one that interrupted his peace. Pre-slash Bertrand/Vlad


**AU request I got. Definitely a new one, I've done Adam!Vlad never human!Vlad.**

 **Human!Slayer!Vlad, dark-ish Bertrand. Unsure if this counts as slash or not. Certainly suggestive themes.**

-YD-

 _"It's been far too long since I enjoyed a Slayer..."_

 _The young man, no older than nineteen or twenty, squirmed ineffectively in his bonds. Were it not for the thrumming, fearful heartbeat, the alabaster skin against dark hair and those pale lips... this Slayer could easily pass for a biter._

 _"Kill me and you won't last the night you parasite!"_

 _Bertrand let out a low chuckle, running his fingers along a truly exquisite neck. That fluttering pulse wasn't **all** fear; he could smell it. Much as he fought it, the Slayer **wanted.**_

Bertrand focused, watched in delight as the harsh artificial streetlight bulb shattered. Modern technology only served to irritate him. Life had been simpler when he was a freshly turned half-fang, four centuries ago. Now there was electricity and UV lights all around the bloody world.

Content in darkness, Bertrand heard the sound he was looking for. A strong, healthy heartbeat. Human. Fresh, hot blood. Sliding deeper into shadows, Bertrand skulked and crouched, ready to pounce. The footsteps came closer, and he realised in his excitement he had miscounted. _Two._ A hearty meal before dawn could arrive.

"That light is busted, I'm not sure about this street in the dark Ashley."

One heart sped up with the anxiety, while the other stayed steady.

"Relax babe, I'm with you. Nothing will happen."

Bertrand felt his mouth twist into a smirk; if only they knew. As they got close enough, he swooped in for the hunt. They didn't hear him move until he was right behind them. He enjoyed the fight often, but he was in a hurry. The male didn't know what hit him before Bertrand had fangs in his throat, biting deep enough to turn or kill depending on how much he drank.

"Ahhh!"

If he could, Bertrand would have winced at the high shrieking scream. He dropped the man, silenced the woman by cutting off her air with a grip on her neck, followed by a swift bite. He took the bodies, dumped them in a side alley and lit them up. He wasn't usually so messy, but Bertrand was full, lazy and needed to get somewhere safe before the sun could touch him.

Sleep came quickly, but when he rose for the evening Bertrand knew he would have to move on for a while. Perhaps back to Transylvania. The Slayer presence there was minimal, and Bertrand had a quaint little cottage with an extensive cellar buried beneath just waiting there. He was born in France, turned there too. He always ended up back there, but after a rather awkwardly public attack by some vampires on the Eiffel tower, the 'heat' was on.

Cursing impetuous, impulsive idiots, Bertrand packed up his few travelling possessions that had to come back with him. _The_ _book_ pulsed in warning, telling Bertrand not to forget it. He packed the Praedictum Impaver, unsure what it was asking for other than to be united with the only vampire who could ever open it.

Transylvania welcomed him, its pressing darkness and eerie silence homely and peaceful. He dusted off the jackets in his wardrobe, made a note to polish the buttons and pins upon his military grade attire. The book went on a stand, something for him to look at, to think about during his down time.

Checking the time and calculating the time for sunrise, Bertrand surmised he had time for a snack. Travelling always made him peckish, after all. Swinging a heavy cloak around his shoulders, Bertrand slipped through the door and out into the night. Many areas in Transylvania were no longer heavily populated - being the food source in the home of vampirekind did that - but enough rural land still existed that a peasant villager or two could be found. In a pinch, there were hundreds of places to get livestock to take home.

Bertrand did quite enjoy a hearty cow now and then. Sheep were a little dry, not to mention annoying to feed on with all their wool. Goats were filling, if not delicious. He preferred human by far, but starving for pride was a ridiculous notion.

One fearful peasant filled him up enough for the rushed nights hunt, so Bertrand headed back and set up to sleep the day away. He rose and dressed as the sun vanished, sky a cloudy haze of darkness that made him frown slightly; less breathers came out when there was no moon to light their way.

Still, Bertrand did some reading, searching his libraries in vain for any mention of the bloody _book_ he dragged around everywhere with him. Giving it up as a bad job, Bertrand retired his reading for the night, opting instead to burn off some of the anxious energy by flying before he hunted. His wings obeyed him perfectly, carried him along through the wind. The clouds and air pressure told of an impending storm.

Spying a lonely peasant, Bertrand landed soundlessly in the nearest field and slinked along, as agile a hunter as the spider to the fly. Only when he got close enough did Bertrand realise it was no ordinary peasant. Not least because of his flawless complexion and neatly pressed black clothes; a far cry from rural Transylvania's customary cloth and mud.

But also the weaponry about his person. The stink of argentalium when he turned toward the sound of a leaf crunching beneath Bertrand's boot. The quick-draw stake from his sleeve.

 _Slayer._

Having moved back to Transylvania explicitly to avoid the plague of a vampires life, he found himself unreasonably irritated by it. Sliding through the shadows, Bertrand smoked up to a closer alleyway and observed the Slayer.

He was slender, pale and his features were youthful. The taut muscles visible even in limited light and his shrewd gaze told of a higher age than his face suggested. For a breather-slayer... he wasn't _bad_ to look at. It was a terrible path to even think about... Bertrand had made that mistake once before. Breathers and vampires only ever ended one way. _Badly._

The stake against his throat told Bertrand his distraction had cost him dearly.

"Show me your fangs. Parasite."

Bertrand hissed, looked into navy eyes lit with fury and moonshine. He had half a foot in height on this breather, easily, but he'd been slightly crouched in his hunting stance which lost him his advantage. Seeking a new one, Bertrand wondered why the hesitation. Slayers staked first, asked questions never. He took a chance this youth was... inexperienced in sexuality.

"Is that a stake in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?"

Pale cheeks flushed with bloodied embarrassment, filling the air with the heady scent of hot, vital red. Still, it was all the distraction he needed to press the advantage of strength, disarming and pinning the Slayer front first to the wall.

"So, what's your name newbie?"

"Eat garlic!"

"Interesting name" Bertrand felt him struggle, pinned him harder "I've never met anybody who's parents played such a cruel trick."

He pressed his thumb on the delicate wrist bone, heard a suppressed whimper of pain and enjoyed it. Savoured it like a vintage blood. He heard the rush of fear, scent heady with adrenaline and the steady thump became almost a rapid hum.

"V-Vladimir. Go by Adam. Now get it over with so someone can avenge me."

Oh, _that_ was priceless.

"Named after the most famous of our kind, if not the most intelligent. No wonder you shortened it. As for my shortening your life" Bertrand pressed again, tasted his pain "I think we'll have to draw that out while I decide whether to turn you."

"T-turn me? Never! I'll die first."

"Then die you shall."

The cuffs stung slightly to handle, but Bertrand used the Slayers own fang-cuffs to restrain his prey. Flitted him back to his little cottage, smirked as _Vladimir_ stumbled dizzily. He took the time to seek and eliminate each weapon, tossing three stakes aside and carefully placing the UV grenade down. He didn't want **that** breaking.

"Ah, back with us?"

Adam - it suited him better - hissed, struggled against his cuffs.

"What are you going to do with me? If I get the choice, I'll die thanks. Better dead than undead."

Bertrand didn't answer, only moved for a split second to change cuffs for rope. He preferred old school tools.

 _I_ t's been far too long since I enjoyed a Slayer..."

The young man, no older than nineteen or twenty, squirmed ineffectively in his bonds. Were it not for the thrumming, fearful heartbeat, the alabaster skin against dark hair and those pale lips... this Slayer could easily pass for a biter.

"Kill me and you won't last the night you parasite!"

His bravado was quite something. Bertrand let out a low chuckle, running his fingers along a truly exquisite neck. That fluttering pulse wasn't **all** fear; he could smell it. Much as he fought it, the Slayer **wanted.**

"Nobody knows you're here."

Adam clearly hadn't considered that. Even that didn't dissuade his arousal entirely.

"Just... get it over with."

"Or... I don't."

Bertrand leant in a little, watched Adam's breath hitch and a hint of red flushed his lips. More signs of desire. He'd not felt such lust himself for a while, so distracted by the book, the quest. Why this one?

He cursed his weakness for _body heat._

Adam stepped back, shook his head.

"You're not touching me while I'm tied up."

He supposed that much was fair. Bertrand cocked his head, eyed the slender body.

"Any other weapons?"

Bravado returned, Adam's mouth tipped up in a smirk. Definitely could have passed for a biter with that level of playful and malice mixed in.

"None that'll ash you."

"Then turn around."

Adam didn't hesitate for long, shook his arms free and held up a tiny blade he'd used to cut the rope while Bertrand had been... distracted.

"You missed one."

Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

-YD-

 **Hm. I hate this.**


End file.
